Oppikoppi ’12

311526_2340378115741_6559681_nAugust you dirty old thing, you have brought much drama and confusion into my life (all pronounced excitement). Every year this month I go to the super festival that is on a hill in a faraway dusty land with thorn bushes and a city of tents, our source of life, the freedom of the wild, rock music and barrels of alcohol. This year was a bit too full but it was almost completely worth seeing and meeting all the faces I hadn’t seen. And one face in particular. The face of one Mr – we’ll call him gentle giant – I would have opted for super gorgeous Viking god but gentle giant seems less stalker-like.

Now, I have a lot of crushes. Everyone does. They come and go, they are on different types of people for different reasons. But my crush on the gentle giant lasted about four years. He’s my unattainable, my ceiling, and part of me likes it that way. I don’t understand people that always get what they want, they never get that burning longing and I enjoy that stuff, makes me feel alive – no, I’m not a masochist. So as you can guess my music festival experience was made when I encountered the gentle giant walking down that dusty hill in all his super gorgeous Viking godness. My friend obviously pushed me to talk to him. I never spoke to him before really. Because I can’t, my mouth won’t allow me to. Anyway, so I tried to say ‘hi’ but it was downhill from there… it was a sad sad attempt at sparking conversation. And I hope the next time I bump into him I’m a renowned author without a stammer. That’s all I wish for.

I came back from Oppikoppi with the usual dust, looking like I had been trekking in Somalia, complexion confused, liver bowed out and soul shattered. I needed a pick me up so I did the unspeakable. I read a bestselling novel. COTCH.  I read Fifty Shades of Grey. To be honest, I didn’t know what to expect, didn’t have much to go on except what I saw on Saturday Night Live, that women secretly read it from their Kindles and masturbate to it on Mother’s Day. What I discovered was worse than that whole disturbing sentence about moms. Maybe the other mistake was buying a grocery bag full of snacks and a bottle of wine to read it, I don’t know.

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